


PIGEONS

by jhsdhalr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 12:03:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jhsdhalr/pseuds/jhsdhalr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another of my pieces. Slightly edited from an earlier version.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prepare your pigeons.

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock cooks dinner.

When John returned home from a very boring day in the Surgery, treating a succession of uninteresting people with equally uninteresting ailments, he was surprised to find Sherlock in the kitchen plucking the feathers off four small birds and throwing them liberally in all directions. The kitchen was already covered in feathers. John was surprised that such small birds had so many feathers. It wasn't that Sherlock was spending time in the kitchen that was so amazing to John but the fact that he appeared to be actually preparing food there.

"What are you doing?" John asked, leaning in the kitchen doorway.

Sherlock didn't answer. It was, he thought, perfectly obvious what he was doing, he was preparing four pigeons for cooking.

"What on earth are those?" John asked, going over to where Sherlock was working and peering at the birds in question.

Sherlock gave a deep sigh and said "they're pigeons."

"You're going to cook pigeons?" John exclaimed "I didn't know you could cook."

"Anyone can cook" Sherlock answered "I've met complete idiots who could cook."

"I don't think just anyone can cook well though" John said.

"It can't be difficult" Sherlock informed John loftily "Mummy could produce a passable meal if very stimulated." 

John wondered how stimulated Mrs Holmes had to be to produce a passable meal. He found his head was filling with a great number of weird images. It was frightening. "What are you going to do with them?" he asked, trying to distract himself from the image of a Sherlockian type of female cooking completely naked "d'you need any help?"

"I'm going make a rice stuffing with bacon, celery, onions, rice, and eggs and stuff them with it" said Sherlock "I went out this morning and bought everything."

"Are you feeling alright?" John asked, looking around the kitchen, which for the first time ever was free of test tubes, bones and other detritus that seemed to follow Sherlock wherever he went. It just had feathers, hundreds of feathers. "You've not had a knock on the head or something, have you?" he muttered.

Sherlock ignored this slight and continued "I'm going to serve them on the rest of the rice. If you really want to help you can boil the rice. I bought some chicken stock cubes specially."

"Why are you cooking?" John asked "you've never cooked before."

"I'm having Lestrade for dinner. He bet I couldn't cook a meal" said Sherlock "I mentioned it in passing to Mycroft and he came around this morning with four pigeons. I have to take their innards out now." He suddenly laughed "I wonder if he's tough" he said.

John was crumbling a chicken stock cube into a pot of rice. "What are you on about?" he asked.

"I'm having Lestrade for dinner' said Sherlock, still laughing "and then he's having me. If there's anything left of course. I've heard human liver is delicious and the meat tastes like pork."

John managed to produce a laugh. "What's for desert?" he asked.

"Tomato soup" said Sherlock "I'm going to put double cream on it and serve it in those green bowls you brought back from France that time." He threw the last feather onto the floor and started, rather reluctantly, to remove the pigeons insides.

"They're Breakfast cups" said John "and you can't have tomato soup for desert."

"The soup's a starter" said Sherlock, holding a pigeon up in the air and looking up it to see if any innards were left behind "for desert we're having Snowman's Balls. Mycroft told me about those."

"I didn't know snowmen had balls" said John.

"You need coconut and nuts and brandy and icing sugar " Sherlock muttered, squinting up inside another pigeon. 

"It sounds like a fun meal" said John "tomato soup served in breakfast cups, pigeons and snowman's balls. How did you get involved in all this shit anyhow?"

"Tut tut" Sherlock said, waving a finger at John "such language."

"I can swear in Arabic" John informed Sherlock solemnly.

"I can swear in English" said Sherlock, looking up another pigeon, which was a mistake because a piece of bloody intestine fell out and landed on his nose "OH SHIT SHIT!"

"I thought you liked blood and guts" laughed John, handing him several sheets of paper towelling.

"Not on my face" Sherlock complained.

"Don't birds usually arrive in shops already defeathered and ready to cook?" John asked, stirring the rice slowly.

"Not from Mycroft" Sherlock said. He placed the largest fry pan he could find on the cooker top, turned on the heat and poured in some cooking oil. After a moment or two he began to fry several pieces of bacon that had been lying on the table next to the pigeons. One piece had a feather stuck to it. Sherlock decided to leave it there. Lestrade probably wouldn't notice, he thought. When the bacon was brown he removed it and dropped it back onto the table and then fetched a small bowl from one of the kitchen counters. It proved to contain some chopped celery and onion. "I did this earlier" he informed John.

There was silence for a while as both Sherlock and John concentrated on their cooking. Finally John decided the rice was done enough and Sherlock added the bacon, celery, and onion plus some small stray feathers and maybe a very tiny bit of pigeon intestine as well. John put in some salt and pepper and Sherlock added four eggs after beating them into submission in yet another bowl. 

"Once this is ready we have to stuff it into the pigeons" said Sherlock. 

It wasn't long, unfortunately, before Sherlock decided that the time had come to attempt to stuff the mixture into the birds. This proved to be immensely difficult. John thought maybe that Sherlock was just not built for stuffing mixture of any sort up a pigeon. He grabbed a pigeon. "I'll do one for you" he said. That was another terrible mistake. John was also useless at stuffing mixture up a pigeon. The pigeons rejected the stuffing. The stuffing fell on the floor among the feathers. John and Sherlock got it stuck to their feet. Then they got it stuck to the table and had to scrape it off.

"How the fuck do people get this stuff to stay inside?" Sherlock swore as he scraped some stuffing off the floor and dropped it back in with the rest of the gunge along with several feathers.

"Glue" John suggested "I have some super glue."

"Is it edible?" asked Sherlock, perfectly seriously.

"It'll probably stick Lestrade's jaws together" John sighed.

"Oh that wont do" said Sherlock "he wouldn't be able to eat the Snowman's Balls then."

"We'll have to struggle on in that case" John moaned.

For about an hour there was no more conversation as both Sherlock and John fought with the pigeons. However, eventually, the pigeons, looking somewhat careworn and upset, were well and truly stuffed and John and Sherlock were sweaty, irritated, exhausted and careworn and upset like the pigeons. Sherlock had stuffing in his hair and John had streaks of pigeon innards on both cheeks and there were feathers and rice mixture and pigeon detritus everywhere. There were even feathers stuck to the ceiling. John had feathers stuck to his feet. Sherlock looked even worse than John.

"We ought to clean up a bit before we cook them" John suggested "otherwise feathers might get into the oven."

Sherlock gave a load groan. John looked for a brush and dustpan and couldn't find one. He got down on his hands and knees and began to pick up feathers and rice stuffing. He threw what he picked up onto the kitchen table where Sherlock, very helpfully, brushed it back onto the floor again. Such was their devotion to their respective tasks that it was some time before either of them noticed what was happening.

"You're putting everything I pick up back onto the floor!" John shouted crossly.

"I'm trying to clear the table and you keep mucking it up again!" Sherlock shouted back. 

They stood glaring at each other. "We'll BOTH clear the floor and then push it all off the table into the waste bin" John said, scowling dramatically. 

Naturally this took some time and they were both very hot, bothered and irritated when they had finished. Sherlock vowed to himself that he would never cook or clean up anything in his entire life ever again. John thought that he would eat out from now onwards. He didn't want to find he was eating a pigeon feather or a piece of pigeon intestine.

Finally they were ready to cook the pigeons. They had to be cleaned up a bit first of course as they were covered in feathers once again. "Oven" panted Sherlock, at last, as John placed the pigeons on a dish ready to cook. John opened the oven and was about to put the pigeons inside when Sherlock gave a cry of anguish. "We have to place them on mounds of the remaining rice and then bake them in a moderate oven at about 350 degrees Fahrenheit for one hour and fifteen minutes " he shouted.

"You've memorized that" said John "what a great memory you've got."

"I only read it this morning" said Sherlock, as he and John began once again to work on the pigeons.

Finally the pigeons were actually in the oven on the rice. John and Sherlock stood panting and looking at the oven. John thought he deserved a medal. Sherlock thought he would never eat again.

"How do you make Snowman's Balls then?" John asked, after a while.

"Oh you just mix a whole load of stuff together and roll it into balls" Sherlock said.

"Have you got all this stuff ?" John asked.

"I bought it all "Sherlock sighed "it's under the living room table."

John went to look and after searching through a number of items, including a surprisingly large number of half eaten custard creams and numerous books, he discovered a bag of groceries. He brought the bag into the kitchen and then took it out again as the kitchen was full. Even the microwave had several bones inside.

When he came back into the kitchen Sherlock looked at him and groaned "I need to lie down" he said "I'm exhausted. I'd rather chase mad men about London at night than do any more cooking."

"When's he coming?" John asked,

"Never, I hope" Sherlock replied, wiping a hand across his brow and depositing a piece of pigeon innards there. It looked quite decorative, if somewhat bloody.

"I mean what time?" John persisted "it's already gone 6 o'clock."

"I knew what you meant" Sherlock snapped "he's not coming 'till 9 o'clock, thank goodness."

They washed their hands and faces and brushed pigeons off their extremities and sat down in the living room and waited for the pigeons to be cooked. After about an hour and fifteen minutes Sherlock reluctantly went to look at them and found they were done. He removed them and put the dish of sizzling birds on the draining board next to the sink. John came over and they both admired their handiwork. 

"They look OK" said John, after a while.

"I couldn't have done it without you" said Sherlock, with unaccustomed modesty "I'm going to lie down for a bit now before I start on the Snowman's Balls and the soup."

"I'll join you" said John.

Sherlock went into his bedroom, threw everything that was on the bed onto the floor, removed his shoes and lay down. John followed him inside and they lay side by side as if that was their usual way of behaving.

"Have you ever had a girl friend then?" John asked Sherlock, rolling onto his side and looking at Sherlock curiously.

"I'm married to my work" Sherlock muttered, rolling over so he was facing John.

"What about sex?" John asked.

"Distracting" said Sherlock.

"That's what I like about it" John explained "one of the things. It's fun too."

"Fun is distracting" Sherlock said.

"Yes" said John "without it we wouldn't be here though, would we? I mean, no sex, no us."

"The world isn't short of people" Sherlock informed John "if we don't reproduce it wont come to a sudden end."

"There is the fun side of it to consider" John said "just do it and have fun."

"Fun" said Sherlock seriously "is grossly overrated."

"You're not averse to a BIT of fun though" remarked John.

"What d'you mean?" asked Sherlock, yawning.

"I took all our sheets to the laundry last week, remember" John said "I had to fold them. I couldn't take them all screwed up, could I?"

"So?" Sherlock muttered.

"Stains" John said, suddenly grinning "you'd had a fun time on those sheets."

"Hmm" Sherlock sighed "I am human."

"Everything is obviously in good working order" said John, laughing. 

Sherlock rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He noticed a couple of cobwebs. While he was still thinking about cobwebs he suddenly found he was being flattened by John, who abruptly got up and sat on him.

"Get off. I can't breathe" he complained.

"I'm not on your chest" John informed him "besides, you like it."

"I DO NOT like it!" Sherlock shouted, nevertheless making no attempt at all to dislodge John.

Sherlock opened his legs as wide as he could and John slid backwards until he was sitting between them, facing Sherlock and with his own legs outside of Sherlock's. He placed the palm of his hand on Sherlock's groin and stroked slowly. Sherlock groaned and arched into John's hand. "Oh yes" John whispered "you do like it, you like it a lot."


	2. Rolling Snowman's Balls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John find this very difficult.

"I should be making Snowman's Balls" gasped Sherlock, after a few moments, as John leaned over and unbuttoned his shirt "not doing this."

"You're not doing anything" John said quietly, bending forward at what seemed to be a painful angle but clearly wasn't "I'm doing it all."

"What about the balls?" Sherlock muttered "Lestrade'll be expecting balls."

John didn't answer, he merely sucked Sherlock's left nipple and then his right. Sherlock groaned and started to squirm. "You should have told me you were ticklish" said John.

"It never came up in conversation" said Sherlock.

"We should definitely have discussed your nipples before now" said John, grinning "and some other parts of your anatomy too. I'm a Doctor, I've always been very interested in anatomy."

"I'm more interested in dead bodies " said Sherlock, quite seriously.

"There's a limit to how much fun you can have with a dead body" John pointed out "if you're even slightly normal, that is." He sat up and unfastened Sherlock's trousers. "You should wear jeans" he said "I like undoing jeans." He leaned over and placed his mouth over the outline of Sherlock's cock and began sucking it through the material of Sherlock's underwear. He was rewarded by more groans. "Nice" he muttered, in between sucks.

"What about----" Sherlock stuttered "what about the Snowman's Balls?"

"Snowmen" John said firmly "don't have balls."

"Haven't you ever heard of snowballs?" asked Sherlock, and to John's surprise he suddenly pulled him down for a kiss. Their mouths melted together. Sherlock wrapped his arms about John and pushed his hands up and under his shirt. That action started a brief, and somewhat rough, struggle in which both Sherlock and John attempted to remove each other's clothing while staying on the bed and not loosing contact with each other. This proved to be very difficult and resulted in several torn garments. After around ten minutes however, they were both mostly naked, if somewhat tattered.

"You're rough" commented Sherlock breathlessly as John nibbled his left ear.

"You have great ears" muttered John. At that moment he thought everything was great however. "You love it" he added, moving onto Sherlock's right ear and then his shoulder blade, which he proceeded to bite, leaving a clear imprint of his teeth and some blood "you're mine now" he murmured "marked for life."

"Are you always like this?" Sherlock asked, as John moved slowly down his body, sucking, nibbling and biting.

"Mmmm" John sighed "tasty." He reached Sherlock's groin and, ignoring his cock, which was literally begging for attention, licked his inner thighs instead. Then he went to work on Sherlock's balls, still ignoring his cock. Sherlock groaned and gasped and tried to push his cock toward John's mouth. John ignored it. Instead he sat up and said "I'm going to make you scream." He got up and actually left the room then. 

"JOHN!" Sherlock shouted "what the fuck?" He sat up and was just about to get up and find John when he returned.

"Supplies" John said, waving a small box at Sherlock "I'm always ready." He opened the box, and, like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, removed a condom and a tube of lube.

He climbed back on the bed and leaned over Sherlock, kissing him hard on the mouth and spreading his legs. Then he squirted some lube on his fingers and some more onto Sherlock's hole and inserted first one finger and then two. He pulled out and lifted Sherlock's legs up and pushed his knees back and then Sherlock felt the fingers again, moving in a circular motion. 

"Easy" Sherlock gasped suddenly.

"D'you want me to fuck you?" John asked "now?"

Sherlock lifted his legs up over John's shoulders and grunted "yes, now." He watched silently as John got ready. John had a long thick cock. He guided the head up against Sherlock's opening and slowly pushed forward and inside until he couldn't help but start to fuck him really hard. Sherlock began to stroke his cock in time with John's thrusts. John put one hand over the top of Sherlock's and the rocking motion they made caused the whole bed to move. They were both groaning and then Sherlock started to convulse uncontrollably and shot cum like a fountain up over his chest. John cried out "yes, yes, yes" and came, collapsing on top of Sherlock, shaking hard.

"Well" said Sherlock, after about five minutes of them just laying together panting "you're a constant surprise Dr. John Watson."

"You too" said John, with a smile "I never imagined you'd be so uninhibited."

"I have my moments" said Sherlock, his brain clearly had not returned from its trip south. He gazed at John with a slightly vacant expression.

John felt like getting up and leaning out of the window and shouting "guess what? I've fucked Sherlock Holmes." Instead he just grinned at Sherlock and said "I love your skin" and then wondered what he was talking about. He leaned away from Sherlock for a brief moment and removed the condom and very tidily dropped it onto the floor. They cuddled tightly, skin to skin.

"We really need to clean up and make some soup and balls" Sherlock muttered, after about another five minutes "and we're starting to stick together."

"I'm stuck to the great Sherlock Holmes" said John, in a sing song voice "you could write a song about it."

"You can't eat a song" said Sherlock "Lestrade will expect food and we should shower."

"Back to reality then" John pointed out and they pulled apart from each other with a sucking noise that was really quite unpleasant. It was only then that they both noticed the state of the bed. The sheet looked as if it had been part of a fight and the bed itself had moved several inches away from the wall and had, at the same time, moved about 20 degrees sideways. "Oh dear" John said laughing.

"I said you were rough" Sherlock told him.

"OK" John said "shower and then cook. You look as if you've been in a fight."

"My shoulder's bled a bit" Sherlock said, trying to examine the bite "you were an animal."

"You LOVED it" John informed him.

"It was an experience" Sherlock said, as they went together into the bathroom "now let's shower together. It'll save water and there's enough room."

"That's a really good reason for being naked together in a shower" John agreed "it saves water and probably shower gel as well."

About fifteen minutes later they were back in the kitchen and it was half past eight o'clock already. "I'll do the balls" Sherlock said "you can do the soup. All the ingredients are ready and the recipes written on the wall above the sink."

John sighed and went to look at the wall. He expected the recipe to be on a piece of paper pinned above the sink but it was actually written directly on the wall. He found the ingredients in a pile on a shelf in the living room. There was a large sheet of paper stuck to the top of several cans of tomatoes which said "soup". He put all the ingredients on the kitchen table and found there was an immediate problem. Sherlock had his Snowman's Balls ingredients already on the table.

John read the recipe on the wall through twice and got started, trying to ignore Sherlock and his balls. It wasn't a difficult recipe, luckily. He melted the butter in a pan, added the onion and garlic, then the tomatoes. Lastly he added a vegetable stock cube and some salt and pepper. He stood by the stove, stirring the soup and hoping Lestrade wouldn't be early.

Sherlock had some bother with his balls. He made a great mess, for a start, crushing digestive biscuits. To get enough he had to crush an entire packet, as the crumbs kept falling off the chopping board and landing on the floor. He then had to chop some mixed nuts, which literally flew about the room as if they had wings. John got in his way too. He swore a lot and finally threw everything together into a large bowl. The mixture of digestive biscuits, cocoa, icing sugar, nuts, syrup, and brandy smelled rather pleasant. He dipped a finger in the mixture and tasted it. Very nice. Mixing everything together was easy but then it had to be made into balls and rolled in shredded coconut. This was where things took a turn for the worse.

While John cleaned Sherlock's food processor, ready to puree the soup, Sherlock was left struggling to roll his mixture into balls. It was, he found, amazingly hard to make balls. He couldn't get them all the same size, he got the mixture stuck on his hands and wiped his hands on his shirt, he dropped two balls on the floor and trod on one of them and it stuck to his shoe, and if all that wasn't bad enough he then had to roll the damn things in coconut. This was slightly easier than making the balls in the first place but very messy. Sherlock wondered why hadn't chosen to make the soup instead and leave the balls to John.

"I'm done" John announced in a pleased tone of voice, just as Sherlock knocked some more shredded coconut onto the floor and trod in it "we just have to add the cream before serving and whisk it in over a low heat."

"Good" snarled Sherlock "you can help me roll some balls then."

Just as John started to roll a ball Mrs Hudson appeared in the kitchen doorway. "I have your young man downstairs" she said "he said he was early so I gave him a cup of tea. He said he was coming to dinner."

"We're nearly ready for him" said Sherlock "just keep him down there another ten minutes will you, Mrs Hudson."

"I've had him for fifteen minutes already" said Mrs Hudson, looking some what displeased "I'm keeping him another five minutes and then he's coming up and this kitchen looks disgusting and while I'm here try to make less noise next time, I was trying to watch "Casualty" and I couldn't hear some of it."

She whisked out and Sherlock and John looked at each and suddenly started to laugh. "Try to make less noise next time" said John, wondering if there would be a next time.

"I'll bite myself" said Sherlock, laughing "that'll save you doing it."

"I'll chew something" said John "and we'll bolt the bed to the floor."

"I'm happy you're both having so much fun" said a familiar voice "but I'm STARVING. Where's this dinner?"

Lestrade had arrived.


	3. Rhubarb wine or men behaving badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're pinning the tail on the pigeon, Mrs Hudson" said Lestrade.

It was another half hour before Sherlock was, in fact, ready to serve Lestrade some food. The kitchen had to been cleaned yet again, the balls had to be finished, the rest of the food had to be re-heated and the living room table had to be readied for the meal.

However, at long last John and Lestrade were able to sit down and begin eating their tomato soup, which was, by some miracle, delicious. Sherlock was about to sit down himself when John asked for some Wine. Sherlock looked slightly worried, but only for a moment. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying an unmarked bottle. 

"This" he announced "is a bottle of Mummy's extra special home made Rhubarb Wine. It goes with anything. Mummy is famous for the quality of her wine."

Lestrade looked a bit shocked. "Does rhubarb GO with tomato soup?" he asked "I wouldn't have thought that it did. Haven't you any PROPER wine, Sherlock?"

Sherlock frowned. "It goes with anything" he said "taste it and you'll see how great it is."

"He's forgotten to get some wine" thought John, sympathetically "he has this fantastic memory for things like blood patterns and he's forgotten to buy wine." Aloud he just said "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Sherlock poured out the wine and sat down to his soup. Lestrade took a tentative sip of the wine and gave a loud gasp."God" he exclaimed "what's in this stuff? It's lethal."

John tasted the wine and found his mouth went completely numb in seconds. "This would make an effective anaesthetic" he remarked casually.

Sherlock drank his entire glass without hesitation. It nearly made the top of his head fly off. "It's delicious" he rasped "It goes with anything."

They finished their soup in silence. This was not from choice. The wine had rendered all three of them temporarily speechless. Sherlock ate about a third of his soup and then got up and went to fetch the pigeons. Lestrade looked at them, steaming hot on their dish, and cried out in a hoarse voice "oh wonderful, I love pigeons." 

John was surprised. "You've eaten them before then?" he croaked.

The wine had cheered Lestrade up magnificently. He smiled happily at John. "My Father was a pigeon fancier" he said "we always had pigeons."

This was such a surprise that both John and Sherlock drank some more wine. John decided that it wasn't as bad as he had first thought and poured himself out some more. Sherlock went back into the kitchen and produced two more bottles. "I knew these would be useful one day" he announced as he placed the bottles on the table.

The pigeons were, despite the trauma of their preparation, delicious. Lestrade didn't complain when he found he was chewing a feather and John didn't even notice he was eating some pieces of partially cooked pigeon intestine. The fourth pigeon was divided between John and Lestrade and even Sherlock ate at least half of a pigeon. The main course proved to be a spectacular success and when Sherlock brought in the plate of Snowman's Balls both Lestrade and John applauded.

Some time later, as they flopped about the room full of balls, pigeons and wine, Lestrade suggested they played some party games. John was enthusiastic and Sherlock didn't voice an opinion so they decided to play a game Lestrade said he had played as a child. It was called 'Pin the tail on the donkey' only in this case they decided to play 'pin the tail on the pigeon.'

Sherlock found a large sheet of paper, blank except for the words "get mouth" written on one side, whatever that meant. They pinned it to the wall and John drew what he said was a pigeon on it and then tied one of Sherlock's scarfs around Lestrade's eyes and gave him a feather duster with a pin in it for the tail. Lestrade promptly stabbed his leg with the pin and then fell down and had to be helped up again. He blundered about the room helplessly as John and Sherlock shouted instructions at him. "Go right---no ----not that right-----left---forward--you're getting warm---no--you're going the wrong way".

Lestrade eventually managed to pin the tail in the pigeons eye which both Sherlock and John found hilariously funny. Lestrade said it was close, which it wasn't as it was a very large pigeon. John took the next turn. He banged into the fireplace and then fell down near the bookcase and hit his head on the wall. Stunned, he threw the tail toward what he believed was the pigeon and it hit the skull Sherlock kept on the mantel shelf and entered its mouth. The skull looked interesting with the feather duster in its mouth but Sherlock said it had to go in the pigeon so John had another attempt. Staggering forward, as Sherlock and Lestrade yelled directions at him, he managed to put the pin in the pigeons side. 

Finally it was Sherlock's turn. John and Lestrade spun him around to make him dizzy and then he was free to try to locate the pigeon. He was feeling his way along the wall, which Lestrade said was cheating, when Mrs Hudson, who never knocked, came into the room, causing John to wonder why they didn't lock the door and keep her out.

"I can't hear my TV" she complained "I was going to bed but I couldn't sleep because you're making such a racket so I got up but I can't hear my TV. What are you doing?"

"We're pinning the tail on the pigeon, Mrs Hudson" said Lestrade.

"It's supposed to be a donkey" said Mrs Hudson.

"We had pigeon for dinner" John explained.

Sherlock laughed. "We didn't have a donkey" he said "we just had pigeons."

"Can you actually eat donkey?" John mused.

"You can eat horse" said Lestrade "so I expect donkey is similar."

"Bit hairy though" said Sherlock and all three men laughed loudly.

Mrs Hudson sniffed. "When the drink's in the sense is out" she said philosophically "I'm going to bed SO BE QUIET OR I'LL CALL THE LAW!"

"I am the law" said Lestrade.

Mrs Hudson sniffed again. She went to the door and as a parting shot before she left said "I hope you're not drinking any of that rhubarb wine of Sherlocks. You know what happened last time you drank that, Sherlock, and you broke your leg too."

As Mrs Hudson left Sherlock triumphantly pinned the feather duster on the pigeon's beak. "There" he announced, in a pleased tone. He pulled the scarf off his eyes and saw where he had placed the duster. "Oh" he said, sounding surprised.

"You've missed" said Lestrade "I win because I was nearest."

"No you weren't" said John "I was and I want to know how you broke your leg, Sherlock."

Sherlock sat down heavily on the sofa and poured himself some more wine, a bottle of which he had earlier placed on the coffee table. "I fell out of a window" he said and laughed.

"I fell out of a widow once" Lestrade informed them, drinking some more wine himself.

John laughed loudly. "You said widow" he cackled.

"No I didn't" argued Lestrade.

John was about to continue to argue when, to his great surprise, Sherlock stood up, waved his glass dramatically and began to sing. Just what he was singing proved to be a bit of a mystery but the words were something about fucking a pigeon. Sherlock didn't have an unpleasant voice exactly but he appeared to have an unfortunate habit of changing key in mid line which was strikingly painful on the ears.

Over the noise of Sherlock singing John and Lestrade began to argue about whether it was actually possible to fuck a pigeon. Lestrade insisted he'd done it, but he then admitted it had been someone in a pigeon costume, not a real pigeon. It was then that John decided that it would be fantastic if one of them dressed as a pigeon and he and Lestrade went into the kitchen and emptied all the feathers out of the waste. They then put the large sheet of paper with the pigeon drawn on it onto the floor and emptied all the feathers on it.

The next thing John knew he was was waking up in bed. He rolled over and bumped into a hideous thing covered in pigeon feathers which seemed to be sharing the bed with him. He rolled the other way and found there were two feathered things in bed with him. He got up, climbed over the feathers and went into the bathroom to pee. For some unaccountable reason Sherlock had a mirror fixed behind the toilet so you could watch yourself pee, if you cared to. John looked at his reflection and saw that his face was covered in small fluffy feathers. After a few moment of total anguish he found that the feathers came off quite easily with soap and water as they appeared to be stuck on with what tasted like Syrup.

John went down to the kitchen and made himself some coffee. From the noises upstairs he guessed that Sherlock and Lestrade were awake and were not happy. His head was throbbing and his stomach was doing the can can so he ignored the noise and sat down in the living room to wait and see what happened. Sherlock appeared first, free of feathers and looking rather red and angry.

"I woke up covered in feathers" Sherlock complained "I was covered in the damn things and I was in bed with Lestrade."

"So was I" said John.

Sherlock sat down on the sofa. "I can't seem to remember much of last night" he said slowly "I think we drank too much wine. All I can remember is you and Lestrade talking about fucking pigeons or something equally revolting."

"You were singing" John informed him.

Sherlock looked shocked. "Oh God' he said "was I?"

"The song was awful" said John "all about pigeons."

"Why were we covered in feathers?" Sherlock asked "d'you know?"

"I think we were trying to make pigeon costumes" John explained.

Sherlock looked aghast. "I'm never drinking anything alcoholic again" he said "it ruins the brain. I don't know what I was thinking about yesterday. I wasn't myself at all."

At that moment Lestrade came in to the room holding a plastic rose. He looked irritated and nauseated. "I woke up covered in feathers and I've been terribly sick" he snapped crossly "and I found I had this, stuck up my----well--up my-----WHO PUT IT THERE? Tell me now."

John thought for a moment and suddenly a weird vision of a totally naked Lestrade dancing with the rose appeared in his mind. Even weirder he found he could recall Sherlock demonstrating his ability to stand on his head while drinking wine and singing opera. He himself had been content to recite something very rude about the Prime Minister and Boris Johnson. Sherlock could evidently dance the Tango too, using the skull as a partner. However, he just said "I've no idea. I can't remember anything much," to avoid embarrassment.

Lestrade scowled at both Sherlock and John. "The bet's off" he said "I'm not risking anything like this happening again. I'm leaving. I'll have coffee later at home. You two are dangerous and insane." He went out of the door, banging it hard behind him.

"The Police in this Country are so unreliable" said Sherlock.

"Yes and they can't even dance in time when they're naked and have a rose in their bum" said John "and who did put it there, I can't remember."

"I think he did it himself" said Sherlock, laughing and holding his head in case it fell off.

"I had no idea you could dance the Tango" John said, smiling.

Sherlock smiled back "I have many talents" he replied "you'd be surprised at the numerous things I can do."

"I have a few talents of my own" John told him "and so does Lestrade." They grinned at each other and then they both started to laugh. 

 

The End.


End file.
